


Transport

by Encyclopedianerdia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Red Pants, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Encyclopedianerdia/pseuds/Encyclopedianerdia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson faces the stark realization that he is in love with Sherlock Holmes. Things are discussed, and John winds up with something more in his scarlet underwear than just his... Erm... Man parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transport

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters (they do, however own various pieces of my soul.) Please feel free to comment what you think, or if I have made any mistakes. Thanks!
> 
> With all due respect,  
> ~encyclopedianerdia.tumblr.com

It was a warm summer day when John Hamish Watson realized he was in love.

Took long enough, too. Nearly a year. He had loved Sherlock since that very first day, when the eccentric man had deduced his entire life's story from his face and his phone.

How could he not? It was horribly clichéd, really, but John fell in love with his best friend. The unusual part was that he had done it before they became best friends.

"Sherlock, do you remember when you told me that you don't do anything?"

Sherlock raised one perfect eyebrow. "Actually, I believe you said that. My exact words were, 'Everything else is transport.' "

"Right," John cleared his throat. "Have you changed your mind about that at all?"

During the few seconds of thoughtful silence that followed, both men reflected on the very first day they met. John had already unconsciously begun trying to make Sherlock fall in love with him. Sherlock had been engrossed in a case.

"No."

"Okay. Just thought I'd ask. It's fine, really-"

A scowl crossed Sherlock's face. "John, I though you were more intelligent than that."

The corner of John's frown twitched up a bit, but not far enough to make it a smile. "Of course not. I'm stupid."

"You're not," Sherlock replied, suddenly serious. "I should never have said that to you."

John didn't see how it mattered. Sherlock had all but said he was still asexual, so they would simply go back to their previous love/ hate relationship. Or, perhaps, love/ whatever-that-thing-Sherlock-does-is would be a more appropriate term.

"Not one else could ever compare to your massive intellect. That's why you're married to your work."

Sherlock rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Maybe I am the only human being with half a brain. Who is the most important part of my work?"

"Are you saying you're married to me, Sherlock? I'm disappointed. I never got to pick out my wedding dress." John's arms snaked over his chest defiantly. Jesus Christ, his flat mate was a walking contradiction.

"Every form of transport," Sherlock mumbled, "needs fuel."

John started a retort, but fell silent when the consulting detective's words sunk in. Sherlock's body was transport... Transport needs fuel... Sherlock was married to his work... Job was the biggest part of said work... Sherlock need John to fuel his body?

Sliding a bit away from Sherlock, who was seated on the other end of the couch, John whispered, "Are you saying you want me, Sherlock? As in you- You WANT me?"

"Must I make it so painfully obvious?"

At least Sherlock was still being his usual nasty self. If he were being romantic or something of the sort, it would have been cause for John to be worried.

"Your brain's the size of Mount Rushmore, so yeah. Mine's maybe the scale model they sell in the gift shop."

Sherlock's eyes were burning a hole in to John. "Never think that. You're very intelligent, John. Extraordinary, never ordinary. Moriarty was wrong. You're my equal, if not my superior."

Thoroughly confused, John offered a half-hearted reply about how an average doctor could in no way, shape, or form be smarter than the world's only consulting detective.

Those cool eyes, however, were nearly enough to clear his mind of any and all arguments.

*

There were hands in his pants.

John had no idea how they'd gotten there, or how long they'd been in there.

Judging by how long and thin the fingers were, John guessed they belonged to Sherlock.

He was right.

"Doctor, I never would have pegged you as the type for these red pants," Sherlock purred. "They're very nearly sinful."

The fingers ran along the inside of his waistband. John clutched at the sheets to keep from crying out.

When had they moved to the bedroom?

His own hands deftly hooked themselves in Sherlock's belt loops, pulling him closer. They crashed together, yearning for more than was possible to give.

"Very high-quality fuel," came the tender whisper against John's swollen lips.

"You're telling me. Are you sure you're a  
virgin? No offense, but you don't exactly embody everything good and pure."

Sherlock trailed kisses down John's throat. "Didn't say I'd never done anything bad. Just said I'd never had SEX."

Fair enough. What wasn't fair, however, was the fact that while John was in naught but his underwear, Sherlock was still fully clothed.

He began by taking great care to unbutton each individual button on re expansive shirt but the shirt's owner grew inpatient very quickly and ripped it off.

Trousers came next, and were treated with reckless abandon. Once in only his pants, John drunk in the sight of Sherlock so exposed. For him, and only him.

Sherlock's pants were a dark purple silk, and they matched the shirt he had shed moments ago. It was utterly preposterous, but so very hot at the same time.

John was high off of Sherlock.

The drug had been drugged in turn, of course. One did not simply see John Watson in those tiny red pants and not get a hard-on.

"I don't want sex, John."

The ex-army doctor licked his bruised lips. "Oh. Sorry. I guess I just sort of assumed-"

"You keep cutting me off tonight," Sherlock huffed. "I only meant to say that I'm not trying to use your body for an experiment of anything of the sort. I... I love you, John."

John grinned.

The impossible, rude, hopeless git.

How he loved him.

"I love you, too," John beamed, suddenly glad for the embarrassing red pants. They were so much easier to get off than any of his others.


End file.
